Pax Romana
by cherryvvoid
Summary: She never fancied herself good at games, but that didn't mean she liked to lose. Self Insert Original Character as Aegon's Twin sister.
1. Feeble Body, Sound Mind

Her tiny lungs shuddered with the amount of effort it took to take in a breathe and she felt _despair_.

Her skin burned and her stomach roiled and despite just how terrible she felt, there was no conceivable way for her to shed a tear for her pain.

She was just too weak to even do _that_ and it worried her.

It worried her because she remembered the screaming and the bleeding and the knife - _and oh god! She had been murdered! -_ but she didn't want to die, not again god help her.

She had been stabbed and stabbed and _stabbed_ until all she knew was red and rage and then _nothing_.

And she had known that very same nothing for so very _very_ long, and remaining suspended in that stark state of nonexistence had nearly consumed her. She had spent so much time in that void that she had almost forgotten what being _alive_ felt like.

The pitiful patter of her heart in her tiny - _too tiny, too_ _small_ \- chest brought back so many sensations, so many memories that she could feel the false beginnings of tears budding from the corners of her eyes and she let out a brittle wheeze.

She forgot that being alive felt an awful lot like dying while awake.

* * *

This body was hungry.

This body was always hungry and thus it made its demands upon the world with angry shrieks and in an instant there were hands at the skin of her forehead and the sound of a smooth accented voice curled around and into her ear as soft murmurs comforted her piercing cries.

Fingers lifted her small form up into the air and for a horrible second, she felt vulnerable and weightless until she was curled up against a soft chest.

Something warm and uneven was pressed against her lips and despite how much she wanted to twist herself away from the offering, her meager strength allowed nothing and so instead she parted her lips and in return, a thermal liquid splashed down her chin.

She barely caught a few drops on her tongue and after a moment, a sharp sound of frustration and worry snapped through the air as a single fingertip brushed against the wet swell of her lips.

There was a sigh before she was hefted closer and the sweet coying taste of milk trickled ever so slowly down her throat.

 _Childhood_ , she thought, _was horrifying._

" _Bona's olvie sȳz_ _Visenya._ " Her mother hummed and despite how she wasn't yet strong enough to open her eyes, Visenya knew she was smiling. " _Ao ēdruta_

 _ipradagon tolī lo ao issi naejot mazverdagon bē kostōba,issa byka Zaldrīzes." (3)_

* * *

Sometimes she had _dreams_.

Sometimes she closed her eyes and only saw heat and blood and anger and oh! It left her awake and choking on her very own tongue.

Half the time she thought those terrible visions would be how she died once again. She thought that she would suffocate on her own terror and drown in her own tears but it never happened.

Sometimes she wished it would.

* * *

The process of her feeding was often turbulent and with minimal success and it often left both mother and daughter sick with frustration, worry, despair, and the acute sting of impotency. With her body too weak to do anything, trying to get her to suckle was difficult and taxing and frankly, not worth half the effort it demanded.

And it was made all the sadder to realize that her mother was not going to give up, even when it was all she was encouraged to do. By everyone.

Her insides roiled and gurgled painfully as she was brought closer to what she knew to be a breast and she could feel more milk wash down her jaw.

It must be hard for a mother to watch her child waste away because she was too frail to be fed.

* * *

Sometimes her faceless mother would sing for her.

Sometimes she would speak to Visenya in her native tongue and coon sadly into her ear and sometimes she would come to her room to sit and cry.

It was decidedly heartbreaking, she surmised and she knew the woman would be better off making her peace with the eventual death of her child but oddly enough that wasn't what she wanted.

Oddly enough for once, she wanted to be selfish and beg to not be left alone.

 _Not again for the love of god._

And maybe her silent prayers worked for her mother's determination to care for her sickly daughter seemed endless.

 _It was nice to be loved._

* * *

 _It was a new thing to have a parent who cared for her so much_ , Visenya thought as she forced her body to mouth at the nipple pressed against her lips. This woman was so unlike the one who left her for dead - screaming and crying as she was cut and cut and _cut_ \- that she couldn't help but _marvel_.

Maybe in death, she had finally gotten lucky.

* * *

" _Visenya_!" The woman with the beautiful voice cried and she squirmed at the vocalization of her new name. " _Ao ēdruta ipradagon_!" (1)

Eating was taxing and she almost hated it but she would try, she supposed, if only for her mother's sake and so she mustered up whatever meager strength lay in her muscles and lapped weakly at the breast pressed against her lips.

A little effort was better than none.

* * *

Settled neatly and nestled in smooth blankets that she could only half feel, the young woman turned infant who knew death as intimately as any lover, melted when she felt a flare of heat drift over her scalp.

Placed near what she knew to be a fire, almost every night, Visenya was treated to the sensation of her mother's slender hands running through her wispy hairs and she was content even in her sickness.

At least if she were to die again, she would do it knowing what it was like to be adored as only a mother could do her children. And despite the differences, if there was one thing that her experiences with both her past and present mothers shared, it was the _emotion_.

Relaxing under the stroking hand she let out a sigh that stirred up the death's rattle in her chest and she could hear the soft beginnings of a sob echoing throughout the room. The fingers in her hair shook and shivered with grief as tiny droplets of salt water dripped down her face and she _lamented_.

 _Being a mother_ , Visenya thought as she listened to the woman with the beautiful voice cry into her ear, _was a task that was full of pain and heartbreak_.

 _And someone always suffered, it was just a difference of opinion on who._

* * *

 **This is a SI-OC as the twin to Aegon which means Elia and Rhaegar are her parents.**

 **Also just so there's no misconceptions, Visenya got the dornish skin but the Targaryen hair and eyes. I thought that it was an interesting combination so I went with it.**

 **Vis is about Jon's age fyi.**

 **This is one of the only chapters where I'll force you to read High Valyrian untranslated.**

 **1- Visenya you must eat.**

 **2- That's very good, you must eat more if you want to grow up strong, little dragon.**


	2. There's Fire And Sun In Her Blood

The first time Visenya had opened her eyes she had been met with the sight of an elderly man and _not_ her mother, much to her disappointment.

The taste of whatever medical concoction she had been fed was still bitter in her mouth as her lashes fluttered up for a few seconds before they lowered again with a dual kiss to her cheeks.

There was a sharp sound of exclamation and the soft patter of feet across the floor as fingers brushed against the arches of her cheekbones and she gave a soft sigh at the sensation.

"Visenya!" Came the excited cry of her mother and at the sound of the woman's voice, the girl gave a flutter of her lids and her eyes connected with bright obsidian.

There was perhaps a moment that passed between the two of them as Visenya took in the dark beauty of her new mother and she was everything her old one was not.

Where her old mother was light, _she_ was dark. To the smooth bronzed stretch of her skin to the coiffing curl of her ink blot hair to her blackened gaze, she was a vision bathed in the hue of the earth.

Visenya couldn't exactly place her new mother's race - maybe anywhere from Spanish to Brazilian to Afro- _Something_ \- but nevertheless, she prayed that she looked like her.

She wouldn't mind taking after a mother like the one she had now.

Jolting a bit as her mother's dark fingers drifted over the curve of her eyelid, down the pudge of her cheek, and furthermore, towards her shoulder, Visenya was startled to see how much _lighter_ she was than the woman.

Her palm resting against the back of her mother's hand provided a blatant contrast and the young girl couldn't help but compare.

The differences between their skin weren't by such a large margin as to truly call her _pale_ \- because Visenya _certainly_ was not - but she was at such a hue that it was enough for everyone to know that her mother's "exotic" blood ran diluted within her.

If the beautiful woman above her was the color of dark honey then Visenya was the color of cold caramel.

It would take some time to get used to no longer being her previous shade of brown but if she could deal with reincarnation, she could deal with this.

* * *

Now that Visenya could see it seemed that all her mother wanted to do was gaze lovingly into her eyes and despite her previous aversion to this kind of eye contact, the young reincarnation found herself enjoying it.

It was soothing in a way, to see the emotion that swam in the elder woman's dark eyes.

It was a reassurance for an insecure girl who was convinced that all of this was too good to be true.

 _I love you,_ whispered her mother's eyes and Visenya wanted to weep.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._

* * *

The cheerful humming of her mother was cut off as a door opened and closed and Visenya reluctantly drew herself to attention as her mother shifted in her seat.

"My lady," The elderly man piped up as Visenya suffered through a languid blink. "I will need to give inspection to the princess' vision as soon as I am able."

Stirring slightly at the sound of accented English twisting elegantly through the air, Visenya internally reaffirmed the fact that this old man was her favorite out of all the other elderly doctors because _he_ was the only one who spoke her language.

And by proxy, he was the only one who was able to provoke her _mother_ into speaking her language right along with him.

There was another pause, this one longer than the one that passed between Visenya and her mother when they had visually gotten to know each other, and the dark haired woman swept her fingers over the apples of her cheeks.

"She has the Targaryen eyes." Her mother said softly in her voice that reminded her of cold waters and shorelines and Visenya furrowed her brow. "As well as the hair, but oddly enough..."

Cutting herself off with a hum as her warm fingers rubbed delicately at the skin of Visenya's wrist, her mother gave a sigh.

"Oddly enough it is paired with skin that endures much easier in the sun from my homeland." She continued as there was yet another sigh and lips brushed her forehead.

"I did not think that she would," Her mother began tentatively. "but she has taken some of the colorings from my family rather than entirely of Rhaegar's."

And for a second confusion seemed to grip Visenya before her mind caught up to what had just been said. Her mind clicked and whirred as the young girl could only think a _single_ thing and that was a resounding and dire: _what_?

There was a noise of agreement and her mother backed away only for the elderly man who had the same skin as her to fill the vacant space.

"It would seem Dornish features are much stronger than anyone could give them credit for." The man said as he held her eyelids open with delicate fingers. "With how Rhaenys turned out to be the very image of you, it was almost expected that the twins would be the same."

By now there was clearly some kind of gentle hysterics working its way through her bloodstream and into her heart and Visenya wasn't able to think clearly. Or maybe she _was_ but there was no viable way for her to recognize that fact _because what the fuck was going on here?_

"Although my lady, it was fortunate that young Aegon took after his Lordship." The old man - the old _Dornishman_ \- continued as her gently let go of her face. "For surely, that is a good sign as it has pleased the King."

A certain almost nonexistent look of distaste seemed to grab hold of the face of her mother - _Elia, her name was Elia Martell if her siblings were truly Aegon and Rhaenys and oh shit that spelled trouble and tragedy_ \- before it easily melted away as if it had never existed.

" _Surely_." The sister of the freaking _Red Viper_ purred demurely and if Visenya had not been paying rapt attention, she would have believed that her mother truly meant the amiable note to her tone.

 _She was going to die again._

* * *

Eyes peering up at the darkened ceiling of her room that was only bright when the flames from the fireplace licked at it, Visenya felt as if she was adrift in a sea of despair.

Warm fingers drifted through her pale hair but even the fresh sensation of touch wasn't enough to draw her away from the devastating ruin of her thoughts and oh god were they _disastrous_.

Because surely being the forsaken child of the Butchered Queen and the traitorous Dragon Prince wasn't anything sort of _terrible_. And if she were being honest Visenya, for all her worth, wanted to lament at the injustice of being given a false second chance.

She was going to die alongside her mother, sister, and brother just as she had _before_ and wasn't that just a classic case of _poetic_ _justice_? And if she were able to muster up the strength, the youngest Targaryen would have cried herself a river to drown in because surely that was much more merciful than what the future had in store for her.

By fire and blood indeed.

* * *

 **Edit: 3/27/17**


	3. Kinsmanship

Visenya didn't want to make peace with her second death, she _couldn't_ \- after all who in their right mind would just roll over and _accept_ something like that?

She may be powerless but she had more than enough love for herself to not want her life to end before it could even start.

And even if there was nothing she could do directly to help herself then she would fight any battles in her own special way. And if that consisted of praying, hoping, and _pleading_ that she would live through these encounters then so be it.

* * *

She had been thinking for days upon days to recall any and all knowledge of the series and finally she had come to accept that all she could do was leave it up to chance despite how the very thought made her skin crawl.

According to rumor, Aegon had escaped the purge with the help of a loyal servant and maybe as his twin, so would she - else she would end up with the same fate as poor Rhaenys.

 _She didn't want to die the same way she had in the past oh god please no!_

Shuddering in the hold of her mother at the very thought, Visenya blinked up at the towering woman and came to a decision.

If there was any truth to the speculation of the Dragon Prince's survival then she would sure as _hell_ be alive to witness it.

And if she had to _stubborn_ her way to healthiness, if she had to ride the dregs of _pure determination_ then she very well fucking _would._

* * *

Before her birth as Visenya when she had been a young girl named _Sybil_ , her life hadn't been easy.

A child born from the rape of a battered woman led her to be born purely out of the kindness - or maybe pity - of her mother's heart because in Francine's eyes, the baby growing in her stomach was just as much as a victim as she had been.

Naturally, there had been dissent with such a choice and when she had been brought into the world, there had been no family there to witness it.

Which was why her growing up by herself didn't come as a surprise.

Sure she was aware that her mother didn't _hate_ her but still she knew how hard it was to look her face and not see the man who had robbed her of something intangible but all too important and so _Sybil_ had gotten used to having a maternal figure in name only.

She didn't blame her at all, there were worst things to be subjected to a little emotional neglect. Besides her old mother had made sure she was cared for in other ways - like by making sure what had happened to her, would _never_ happen to her daughter.

As soon as _Sybil_ had been able, her mother had thrown her into self-defense classes. It didn't matter to her if _Sybil_ hadn't wanted to do it or if she would come home crying because the exercises made her body hurt - her mother made _sure_ she knew how to protect herself from the pain of assault, even if only because she never had the chance to. And she supposed she was grateful for it - as was evidenced when later in her life, someone she had trusted had tried to take advantage of her less than lucid state.

Melvin would feel that dislocated shoulder for the rest of his scumbag life.

But she digressed, she wasn't so far removed from _everyone_ in her family.

Her younger brother had been more than enough for her to occupy her time with, especially since her numerous cousins hadn't wanted to be around the girl their parents warned them to stay away from.

And although she would be the first to admit that seeing her mother acting so - _in love_ with her second child drove knives through her heart, she had been glad that her mother could know a healthy parent-child relationship.

Even if she could not.

But regardless of her cold and borderline abusive home life - there was a reason she was no longer allowed to stay at her grandparent's house - _Sybil_ had _excelled_.

She had been a bright kid, good at sports, good at school, and good at being good. She had made it through high school and then onto college - she wanted to be a doctor - when sadly, tragedy struck.

It wasn't her place to bring it up and so she wouldn't, the only information that needed to be shared was that she had left her prestigious school and her full ride scholarship to come home and care for the family that never really loved her.

She had gotten a job at the local center teaching battered woman how to defend themselves against their attackers - she already knew the material so why not? - while taking up a shack as a Poli-Sci major at her local community college and _Sybil_ found that it was enough.

That was until she had been murdered and had woken up as a baby belonging to a bloodline destined for ruin but she wouldn't let _that_ keep her down.

After all, she was a dragon and a snake, and by lineage, she was reputed to have balls of _goddamn_ steel.

Visenya Targaryen was going to reach past her second year if it was the last thing she'd ever do - and if nothing went according to plan, it just might be.

* * *

There was a young girl in her room.

A young girl with dark skin, hair the color of the night sky and eyes to match and Visenya was confused.

Turning her head from the position on her bed, she peered into a dark gaze and blinked.

" _Salve_." The slightly older child said in what she was surprised to note as Latin - the likes of which she now wished she had taken more of. "You're _very_ small."

A little bit startled at the declaration Visenya blinked once more and would have furrowed her tiny brow if she could.

"Grandfather says that you are sick and going to die." The girl said with such a lack of care that Visenya almost found herself not liking the child until she realized that the young didn't fully grasp the weight of words yet. "But you don't _look_ sick or dead."

Leaning closely, one small brown hand poked her cheek and white teeth flashed at her.

"You're just squishy." She giggled. "Squishy and tiny, like Aegon."

And at that, Visenya paused and backtracked because could this be _Rhaenys_?

Looking at her visitor closely with a more critical eye, she could clearly see her mother in the lines and curves of her face, albeit younger and suddenly Visenya was both curious and heartbroken.

This little girl - her sister - would be murdered before she could even lose all of her baby teeth.

 _How cruel._

* * *

The eldest princess came back often and with her came a surprising sensation of fulfillment.

Most of what she said almost didn't make sense and she tended to speak in their mother's home tongue more often than not, but it was something to look forward too.

* * *

Everyone here wanted her to die it seemed, except for the kind hearted lady who brought her into this world.

The women - _wet nurses something inside her whispered_ \- who cared for Visenya when her mother couldn't had loose tongues when they thought no one could hear them and _oh_ how the whispered about the day when the blight on the Targaryen family would _finally_ do the honorable thing - _the respectful thing_ \- and _die_.

They would hem and haw about how everyone - including the King and Queen - had already put her from their minds and were looking forward towards the day when their Lady Targaryen would bear their prince a _true_ heir, a healthier one who was fated to live past their second year.

It made her sick and a part of her vindictively hoped they die first when the Lannisters fell upon this stupid castle like hungry dogs scenting blood.

Sometimes she thought she was a bad person but after all she has been through, why can't she be like that?

 _Why can't she?_

* * *

She had the faintest idea that no one else in her family held in interest in her besides her mother and sister and that was fine with her.

She didn't need to be surrounded by people who hated her very existence.

Not again at least

* * *

Startling as Rhaenys slid her arms under her body and lifted her up, Visenya kicked her limbs out a few times on impulse and then held herself deathly still. If this girl dropped her, she didn't know _what_ would be the results on her frail little body.

Cradled awkwardly in her hold, the young Targaryen damn near sighed in relief when the child carrying her sat down and adjusted her arms to a more comfortable position.

"Mamá lets me hold our _frater noster_ sometimes," The girl - who was undoubtedly Rhaenys at this point - confessed. "so you're safe with me because I know how to set you so you don't fall."

Shifted once again, Visenya found herself looking up into a dark gaze and her sister giggled again.

"You have the same eyes and hair as _pater_ but your skin is darker, like mine." Rhaenys marveled as her fingers drifted alarmingly close to her sclera and Visenya lowered her lids in response.

There was a delightedly little gasp and suddenly she was being cuddled closer.

" _Oh_!" She giggled. "Are you tired? If you are you should sleep!"

Head balanced in the crook of Rhaenys' elbow, Visenya felt herself relax wittingly into the warm circle of her sister's arms.

" _Mamman_ _never_ lets me hold Aegon when he's about to go to bed but that's okay because I can hold _you_!"

And maybe Visenya would have fallen asleep - or maybe she would have stayed awake - but she never got to find out because in stormed her mother with a frantic servant trailing behind her skirts.

"Rhaenys!" The Queen snapped as her lovely voice drifted into the language of her homeland. "You know you aren't to be in here! Give me your sister, _nunc_!"

And in a displacement of air, she was placed squarely in her mother's arms much to the apparent disappointment of the eldest princess who was sporting a pout.

" _Inepta_ , now I have to have this room thoroughly scrubbed!" Elia groused. "Visenya is very susceptible to sickness, did you at _least_ wash your hands before you touched her?"

Guilty Rhaenys nodded her head and stared down at her slippered feet before the Dornish sovereign sighed softly and bent down to drawn her first daughter nearer.

"I am not _truly_ angry with you." She murmured to the girl. "Just disappointed that you allowed your curiosity to potentially endanger the delicate health of your younger sister - you know we have rules in place for a _reason, etiam_."

With a hunch of her shoulders, Rhaenys looked up and brushed at the tears bubbling up in her eyes.

"Grandfather kept saying that she was going to _die_." She warbled out softly. "And I just wanted to see her before she had to go."

Abruptly the grip her mother had on her tightened and relaxed when Visenya gave a little squeak. From her position, the young girl could see Elia's jaw work and she could easily spy the fury dancing in her obsidian eyes.

"Did your sister look like she was passing away to you?" Her mother asked and hesitantly Rhaenys shook her head. "Then the words your grandfather spoke were untrue, Visenya will be with us for a long, long time - I will make sure of it."

Smiling now, Elia held open her free arm and beckoned her child close in a tight warm hug.

"The next time you're worried about something come to me instead." She murmured. "That way we can get everything sorted out before you do something foolish."

Rising to a stand, the Queen gestured for the lingering attendant to come forward and she looked towards Rhaenys.

"Now please, go with Anne and if you swear not to run off again, you may have a lemon cake."

Seeing the girl cheer up right before her eyes, it wasn't a surprise when she chirped out an agreeable promise and scampered from the room with the maid quick on her steps.

Sighing once she was alone, Elia sat back into a chair and peered down into Visenya's twinkling violet eyes.

"I suppose a visit fromMaester Lucio is in order."

* * *

 **She met Rhaenys!**

 **Also pretend for the sake of the story that Rhaenys wasn't three when she died but was about seven, meaning she's five/six here and that's why she's talking so well.**

 **Also to the reviewers asking, yes Rhaegar is still going to go after Lyanna because Visenya was born sickly and everyone thinks she's going to die. Besides the prophecy calls for it anyways right?**

 **If anyone wants to talk about this story with me who knows the GoT world then please send me a private message!**

 **Also before anyone says anything, I made the language of Dorne Latin because of Reasons™.**


	4. Gaining Perspective

"Princess Visenya is perfectly fine, my Lady." Lucio told the anxious Dornish woman, tone carrying a tenor of patience and good humor and her mother scowled faintly at the pacification.

"For now." She grumbled, hold shifting her closer to her bosom and Lucio hummed.

"It could be good for her, my Lady." He said after a moment and her mother paused, her fingers feeling hot on the curve of Visenya's cheek and she watched those dark eyes blink once before rising to focus on the folk doctor seated just opposite of her.

Taking the look as a sign to continue, the man turned more fully to face the pair and let his heavy golden gaze drop to hers.

Visenya stared.

"The exposure, my Lady." He clarified. "The careful introduction to outside contaminants could perhaps rend her a more - _formidable_ constitution."

His hawk eyes swung towards her mother's and held, something deep and serious in them and she shuddered.

"It is not unlike how your brother, his Lordship, has exposed himself to various venoms and poisons in order to reduce their potency and often deadly effects." He said, voice never losing or gaining volume and all the while her mother's silence rang clear like a damnation and Visenya could only _watch._ "We do not have to bring her out if you would permit to bring people in but there _has_ to be progress made my Lady, else the king would surely find little use for our - continued efforts."

And just like that, Visenya understood.

And immediately wished she hadn't.

 _Jesus fucking christ_ , something in her whispered, its words tenuous and withered, _my grandfather wants me dead_.

But then again, that wasn't anything new, now was it?

* * *

There hadn't been a conclusion to the talk between her mother and the maester - or at least if there had been one she hadn't bore witness to it and the very notion _ate_ at her.

It picked at her mind and devoured every thought it set its envious eyes on until the only thing left was her death and how it would happen again.

Who would be the winner? It jeered, with a sneer. Who would get to lend a hand in the murder of men, women and children? Who would get to lay claim to her death _this_ time around?

How would they do it? In front of her mother? Her sister? Her _brother_?

Or would she be saved for last? Would _she_ be the one forced to watch? Would _she_ be the one forced to know just how they would rip her apart? How they would bash her head in? How they would butcher Rhaenys? How they would mutilate Aegon?

 _How they would rape and carve open her mother?_

 _Dear god,_ she thought, tears burning hot paths down her cheeks as arms carefully huddled her close and she _despaired_. _please not again_.

 _Not again_.

* * *

Rhaenys didn't come back in the next few passing days and she tried not being angry because no one was really to blame.

But fuck if her goddamn emotions would catch the clue.

She hated it.

* * *

There was another person in the room and with their presence they carried in the scent of burning cinders and lavender.

Lifting her heavy lids fully at the realization, she let them snap upwards in an attempt to catch sight of whoever this mysterious guest was when they - she - spoke.

"She has the Targaryen eyes." The low almost surprised sounding voice said, warm like honey and accented in a way that was unfamiliar to her ears and she nearly startled at the laugh that cut happily through the air.

It was her mother's.

"That good mother, was almost word for word my reaction."

Gaze drawn off the left at the sight of black hair dancing in the corners of her vision, Visenya met the warm beam of her mother's smile and gurgled happily when those familiar arms held her close.

"You can hold her if you would like." Elia smiled, holding her arms out slightly in offering. "Maester Lucio said that exposure may help her strengthen."

A pause - a hesitation - and then Visenya was being shifted into lace covered arms and a beautiful face as pale as the moon itself was set before her very eyes.

 _Oh_ , She thought distantly as she peered up into matching lilac eyes. _This must be the famed Lady Rhaella._

And she was every bit of the beauty the story reported her to be.

Where her mother was shades of the sun and earth, this woman - her grandmother - was silvers and opals, with her hair like a freshly hatched pearl, gleaming in spirals down her back and around her shoulders. Her brow was arched and noble, and her face was soft and enchanting - carrying a silent but profound misery behind its aged beauty.

It almost hurt to look at her - to take in all that deeply inlaid misery that hung from every sculpted curve of her visage - but Visenya _endured_.

As she had always, _always_ done.

* * *

 **Okay I really suck! But I'm finally back and better than ever. I couldn't get a feel for how I wanted to continue this until I listened to the song that mainly inspired this story and Visenya's character but I sat down and kept going.**

 **It's short but I tried my best!**

 **Please review and thank you so much for continuing to read!**


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